Muscle Cars, Motorcycles, and Mini Vans
by 332249
Summary: Have you ever wondered why one parking spot looks so much better than another? Does it really make that much difference to you? Here's a secret for you: Its not you, its your car. Follow Baby as the Impala meets other vehicles from other shows, movies and books.
1. Psych

**(1) Psych**

Dean Winchester loved music, specifically classic rock. But whenever Sam Winchester was not in the car, Dean was known to branch out into less... image conscious choices. (Taylor Swift was showing up with a disturbing amount of regularity ever since that de-aging fiasco.) Therefore, Baby knew a lot of songs. Some she enjoyed a lot, others not so much, but as long as it made her boy happy she would deal.

Her parking lot mate was humming a tune she didn't know. While the little ditty was catchy, she hoped the tune wouldn't stick around.

Finally, the little blue Toyota Echo burst into fully voiced song. " _I know, you know, that I'm not telling the truth. I know, you know, but you don't have any proof! Embrace the deception. Learn how to bend. Your worst inhibitions tend to PSYCH you out in the end!"_ It had a voice like a little kid's. Baby couldn't tell if the vehicle had grown into a gender yet.

"Nice tune, sweetie," Baby complimented in her most maternal tone. If the little blue ball of energy was older than a 2000 model, she'd be very surprised. Not a lot of cars that young had much in the way of personality yet. "You have a name?" Some cars get named right away by their drivers. Others have to decide for themselves once they've gotten self-aware enough. If this little one was singing, chances were it had gotten one of the two.

"Thank you!" It chirped happily. "I'm Blueberry. It's my other human's theme song."

"Blueberry. That's, ah..." _Must be a girl's car,_ Baby mused. "...cute. Other human?" Baby asked encouragingly. The more a car talked with the youngsters, that faster they grew.

And maybe if they talked, Baby wouldn't get the song stuck in her head.

"Mm-hmm!" The Toyota enthused. "I have my driver, the guy the company gave me to, and my other human. My driver has a real job while my other human pretends to be psychic. Together, they solve crimes and save people."

"Pretends to be psychic? Oh, dear," Baby sighed. "My boys came to Santa Barbara because this psychic had a decent history of accuracy, so they thought he was the real deal."

Blueberry giggled. "Everyone knows that the supernatural isn't real!"

Baby chuckled warmly. Youngsters. They all learn soon enough what was really out there. And today would be this one's day to expand its horizons, because here came her boys. Two other men followed behind, one white and one black, both pretty young. The white guy was talking about how the his psychic powers worked. Huh. Apparently, Blueberry was a guy's car.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it. Not an exact science." Dean waved off more explanations. "Just tell us where this thing came from so we can clear out the rest." With that, he popped the truck open and stepped back to give the 'psychic' access.

Baby knew what was in the top half of her trunk, what the self-proclaimed psychic saw: A vampire's corpse with its detached head resting between its feet.

"Shawn! There's a body in their trunk!"

"Gus! I see the body in the trunk!"

"SHAWN! Why is there a body in the trunk?!"

"GUS! How should I know?!"

 **"SHAWN!"**

 **"GUS!"**

"BLUEBERRY!" the little car wailed in distress; every bit as high pitched, terrorized, and whiny as her drivers.

"Kiddo, why are you screaming your own name?" Baby asked gently, trying to keep her amusement out of her voice. The poor little thing was already a little traumatized, if it got much worse it'd have engine problems and electrical shorts for the rest of its life.

"Somebody should!" Blueberry wailed some more.

"You're going to be fine. Its alright," Baby soothed. The blubbering lessened, until Sam popped the trunk lid on the Echo.

"What was that!" Blueberry shrieked.

"Your trunk, honey." Baby explained patiently. "My drivers are going to put your drivers in your trunk-"

"DON'T!" Blueberry squealed. "I like Gus's head where it is."

"In your trunk, safe and in one piece, so they don't call the police before we have a chance to leave." Baby finished, still trying to calm Blueberry down. "No one's going to hurt them."

"It feels weird," the smaller car whimpered.

"I know, kiddo. I know. It'll be over soon."

"Baby?" Blueberry asked tremulously.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"I think I leaked some gas."


	2. The Dresden Files

**(2) The Dresden Files**

"I hate big cities," Baby snarled after yet another near miss. Her boys, the Winchesters, had driven to Chicago of all places. Usually, it was country roads and small towns which is fine with her; she liked her personal space. Here though, here in the mega city the starts and stops were rough on an engine. Wanna be hot rods cut you off right and left. Until they weren't paying attention and wrecked, gumming up the travel lanes for an hour.

Big cities meant tight parking, tight parking meant dinged up doors and scratched paint jobs. Don't even get her started on young morons with cans of spray paint.

"Oh, they're not so bad," the car idling next to her countered lightly, his voice soft spoken but clear. "My driver took me all the way down to Springfield on the interstate once. It was awful. There were speed _minimums_ on the interstate." The little car vented a light groan at the memory. "I didn't know roads had speed minimums. It was a struggle the whole way down and back."

Baby turned her attention outward to her new curbside companion. "Oh, you poor thing!" popped out of her (figurative) mouth before she could stop them. She'd always known Dean took better care of her than most drivers did for their cars. But this...! The Volkswagon Beetle behind her had panels and doors in colors including white, yellow, red, and green and the hood was nothing but gray primer. She was all over in dents, with slagged holes that had been patched over, and her hood had clearly been hammered back into a vaguely hood-like shape. Some vandal had spray painted 53 on top of the primer in honor of Herbie.

As though any car with any amount of dignity likes the Herbie movies. Its not like they were all insanely jealous, or anything.

The Blue Beetle growled, "Don't. Don't go there, okay? My driver's work has trashed me so many times in the line of duty its not even funny. Still, even after the mold demon wrecked every bit of upholstery and padding in here, he didn't junk me out. How many drivers have you met that loyal to their car? Huh?"

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Baby apologized. "I get it. Really. A demon-posessed semi driver T-boned me and then a few years later they flipped me over, landed me on my roof. I guess I should appreciate how lucky I am that my driver is a mechanic as well."

"That would be nice," Blue Beetle relaxed his hackles. "I mean, I like Mike, I do, he's a good mechanic and all but... He's not Harry Dresden, you know?"

"I know. I got spoiled after John and Dean. When Dean was dead for that summer and Sam had to take me to whatever mechanic he could find wherever we happened to be... Well, there was more than one reason why I was so happy he was back."

Traffic started moving again, albeit slowly. The two cars rolled along, more or less at the same speed.

"I'm Baby, by the way."

"Blue Beetle. Nice to meet you."

They rolled along for a few dozen feet, intent on traffic instead of each other. All around them cars jeered at each other, echoing their drivers. Then they rolled to a stop again.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Baby groaned. "How you you vehicles get anywhere in this?"

Blue Beetle chuckled. "Well, I _am_ a wizard's car. When we need to be somewhere in a hurry, I cheat."

"Really? Well, I'm a Hunter's car. If this doesn't clear up soon, I'm a little worried what Dean will decide to do with the arsenal in the trunk."

Blue Beetle belly-laughed. "I guess we can't have that. Hunter, huh? In town to investigate those died in a locked room murders, right?"

"Yep."

"Yeah, Harry said he called around for someone with access to the right gear for this one." The little volkswagon considered things for a moment. "Well, we can't have your hunter getting arrested before he helps out my wizard, now can we?"

Baby watched as the 'poor thing' drew magic from the road into itself.

" **Demoverius Intervallum!** " he bellowed, his formerly soft spoken voice now a basso profundo that made Baby's metaphorical ears ring.

All around them, the other vehicles slowed down or sped up, some switched lanes while others let them in without the usual cacophony of angry horns. What ever needed to happen to make space for the two of them to get through, happened.

Dean revved the engine, trying to take full advantage of the sudden gaps, but always came up short as soon as he got too far away from the Blue Beetle. Harry Dresden puttered along, driving the exact speed limit, smoothly and easily making his way through traffic. It didn't take long before Dean caught on and started drafting the VW Bug.

"You have _got_ to teach me that trick!" Baby squealed happily.


	3. Longmire

**(3) Longmire**

Most of the time, Baby was utterly content to be a car. Cars had it simple: cruise the roads wherever their driver may steer them (today that was Absaroka County Wyoming) or be parked while the driver does whatever it is that humans do when they are not in the car. It was a good existance.

Sometimes, just every once in a great while, she wished she were human. Humans could do all kinds of things that cars couldn't do. Like they had a head to bang against the nearest wall. Or, even better, humans could point weaponry and pull the trigger. Their whole opposable thumb thing gave them a whole range of capabilities that cars didn't have.

Despite being a Hunter's car for over thirty years now, Baby was not a violent vehicle. Not usually (ghost possession not withstanding). But being parked for the last several hours between the '58 GMC Blue Chip named 'RezDawg' and the '69 Ford Thunderbird named 'Lola' would do that to car.

"Henry loves me best!" RezDawg bellowed. Again. With more volume than last time.

Lola scoffed. "Saying it louder does not make it any more true than whispering it, dearie."

See? Being a car meant Baby didn't have hands to cover her figurative ears.

"If its not true, explain to me why he spends all his time driving _me_ around instead of you."

"I am not an everyday kind of car." Lola sniffed. "I am a lady. This country is incredibly rough on the undercarriage of a low rider. Its been a dry summer and there is dust everywhere. Henry is taking good care of me by keeping me home in the garage."

"That's a long winded way of saying he drives me more," RezDawg huffed.

Baby snorted in amusement. Fords.

Lola's attention rounded on her. "Did you have something to add? Huh? _Chevrolet_?" She spat out that last word like it was a curse.

"Yeah, actually. I do. You are a Ford. Fords were designed to come off the lot fast and cheap. To be an everyday kind of car." Baby explained sweetly.

"Oh, you did not!" Lola squealed indignantly.

RezDawg started cackling.

"You stay out of this!" Lola sputtered.

Baby wasn't sure which vehicle she was talking to, but answered anyway. "I would love to, if you two would stop arguing like an old married couple!" she snapped. "For the love of all things mechanical! He's the working truck. You're the pleasure car. There is no shame in being either."

Silence reigned between the three of them for a moment and Baby breathed a sigh of relief.

"I still say he likes me better," RezDawg muttered mutinously.

"You are a gamble every time he put the key in your ignition," Lola retorted.

"I keep his life interesting!" RezDawg shot back. "And I annoy Walt!"

"Cady wanted _me_ in her wedding!"

Baby groaned. "Shut up, or so help me, I will find a way to pop my doors open myself and ding your paint job all to hell!"

"Try it and I'll have The RezDawg pepper you with gravel on the way out of here," Lola threatened.

RezDawg snickered. "So you admit it. Henry will be driving me because he likes me better."

"He'll be driving you, because he has inventory to haul!" Lola shrieked. "You arrogant, rust speckled, rolling dent!"

And they were off again. They same argument they'd been having since Henry Standing Bear brought Lola home from the dealership back in 1970.

Baby wailed her mounting frustration, wishing her driver could hear her and get out here to park her somewhere else. Anywhere else. Like maybe back in Kansas!

The door to the bar opened and Dean Winchester stuck his head out. Confused, he checked out his Impala but saw nothing amiss. He shrugged and headed back in.


	4. The A-Team

**(4) The A-Team**

"Hey, Baby, Baby! Baby, Baby!" A disappointingly familiar deep voice sang out from across the bar's nearly empty parking lot. Familiar in that they'd run into each other a few times before. His drivers moved around as much as hers. What she couldn't understand was how on Chuck's green Earth did they _keep_ running into each other. Seriously? How often can two moving points intersect?

{Not this moron, not again,} Baby thought. {Please, _please,_ don't let them park him here.}

Of course he did just that. Its not like there where a lot of options in the lot around the gun runners favorite bar.

"What is a fine ass lady like you doing in a dump like this?" he demanded. "You could get hurt with all these drunk fools staggering around. Tell you what, Baby-Girl, I'll protect you."

Groaning, she said, "Like I need protecting? Would you please go find a nice little minivan to bother? Or _anybody_ else? There have to be some vehicles that don't loath you for you to harass. Look, there's a '74 Dodge Monaco, looks like she used to be a police car. Go hit on her. Retired cop and retired military, I'll bet you have a lot in common."

"Do I look like a minivan kind of guy?" he demanded in his sexiest come-on voice.

Baby had to admit, no, he didn't. The black and metallic gray '83 GMC Vandura sported a red stripe, black and red turbine mag wheels, and rooftop spoiler. He had style. What he lacked was manners and the ability to take 'buzz off' as an answer.

"Check the hardware, sexy," the van continued. "I got just as much style as your beau. You know what? Scratch that. I got _more_ style than that little neon orange peacock.

Baby fumed. {Oh no, he did NOT just go there!} Its not like her boyfriend needed defending, his drivers maybe when dealing with the A-Team, but her fellow muscle car did not. Not anymore than her boys needed defending. Everyone in her life was more than capable of handling themselves. But they were _hers_ , by golly. {Let it go, girl. Let it go. The moron is just trying to get a rise out of you.}

"And come on, Baby Girl, you gotta appreciate the arsenal I got over here."

Baby snorted in derision. "Trust me, my boys have enough gear to make your Robin Hood and Merry men jealous."

The van chuckled. "I ain't talking about a few handguns and a sawed-off or two, Darling. I'm talking about some serious firepower. I'm talking machine guns and grenade launchers."

And that right there, that condescension of what _her boys_ did for the world, was the real reason the two of them would never get along. The A-Team were good people. Dean liked B.A. and Murdoch. Face made a great wingman. Sam loved challenging Hannibal to a chess match. She didn't understand why the cargo van couldn't appreciate her boys, too.

"I met my drivers when they were babies in car seats in the back," Baby told him coolly. "An arsenal is only worth having because it helps my boys keep themselves safe. We don't haul anything around that isn't useful."

"I am extremely useful to keep around," the cargo van dropped his voice back down to the timber he obviously thought was sexy, but Baby emphatically did _not_ agree _._ "And a lot more fun than that southern hick you seem to think so much of."

{Yep, he's going there.} Baby kept her growl internal. Enough was enough, if he was going to take sheap shots at a guy five states away then Baby would have to respond in kind on her fella's behalf.

Baby vented a theatrical sigh. "Sweetie. You were designed and built to haul cargo. I'm 'checking' the spoilers and the detailing and seeing useless frills. Probably compensating for an engine that couldn't quite keep up with a heavy load like it was supposed to. So your driver, who loved you enough to not want to get rid of you, had to convert you for passengers. You are now a glorified minivan. Own it. Embrace it. Then go find a pod of soccer moms to impress. And Leave. Me. Alone."

When Sam and Dean came to get her, the van was still sputtering his indignation.

A/N: Anybody catch what movie the ex-cop car was from? SPN did a shout out to the movie, so I couldn't resist.


	5. Jane Yellowrock

**(5) Jane Yellowrock**

A/N2: This one was for Shamangrrl, who recommended the Jane Yellowrock series to me. She wanted a real crossover fic, but I'm still reading. :)

Baby had been all over every one of the lower forty-eight states; she'd been north into Canada and south into Mexico. She was coming up on fifty years old and had been moving state to state since 1984. While she didn't know every single make and model of every car that ever came off the assembly line, she thought she knew most of of them. Or, at the very least, could put the vehicle in a close category.

But this motorcycle had her stumped. Everything she thought she recognized didn't quite match the next piece she could place. Until finally, she had to ask. "I'm sorry, but-"

"Bitza," the motorcycle cut her off.

"Sorry?"

"My rider built me out of 'bits of this, and bits of that.' I don't have a make, model, year, or brand." The cycle explained in a bored and slightly hostile tone. A tone that said she goes through this every, single, damned, time she meets somebody new. "So she calls me Bitza. Not Frankenstein. Bitza. And no, that does not leave me with multiple personality disorder. I am as sane as any other bike."

Baby let that sit for a moment before deciding to try a subject change in the interest of avoiding the awkward silence she knew would come next. They could be parked next to each other for awhile after all. "I actually met the Frankenstein family once. When they moved to the states, they shortened it to 'the Stynes.' They actually used to live here. Well, not here in New Orleans but here in this state, over in Shreveport."

The motorcycle seemed to really focus on the muscle car sitting next to her after that comment. "I remember hearing about some big upset over in Shreveport not so long ago. Someone rolled into town and killed everybody in the house; twenty men and women, and the family dog. Jane nearly rode out there to see if it was something she needed to put down." Bitza gasped in shock. "Oh my God! You're the Old Black Car aren't you?"

"The what?"

"The Old Black Car," Bitza repeated. "From the stories the Wolves, vampires, and shifters tell around the campfire:

 _"Hunters have their fancy books and their guns,_ silver knives and wolfsbane, _and_ they're _all plenty lethal to lycan kind. But there is one family of hunters that_ even _other hunters dare not whisper._ One family more dangerous than all the rest. So remember, _above all,_ my little mongrels, _never harm a human during the moon. The Winchesters will always avenge human deaths. And if you see that Old Black Car rolling into town with two passengers... you better run, because you can't hide from the Winchesters."_

"Wow, I sound all kinds of scary when you put it like that," Baby didn't know if she should laugh or be appalled. "Wait, my boys are the boogeymen for monsters?"

Bitza snorted. "Just the ones dumb enough to go around leaving bodies. I mean, my rider's a shape shifter, sure, but she's not a monster. We're in New Orleans because the vampire in charge needs a big stick to keep her people from getting carried away and actually killing someone."

"Smart."

"Right? But Hunters, if there's no body then there's no monster. Most Hunters have no clue about the sheer number of non-humans living happy, quiet little lives." Bitza chuckled darkly. "You know, if those Winchesters of yours heard us talking, there'd be a bonfire of a salt and burn."

"Nah, my boys wouldn't do that to me," Baby denied. "There would be weirdness, then they'd get over it. Then Dean would love it, and Sam would be cool with it. Then I would hear never-ending Knight Rider jokes for the rest of their lives." Baby snickered as a thought struck her.

"What?" Bitza prompted.

"I was just remembering when a trickster turned Sam into a KITT/Impala hybrid. I'd love to chat with him someday about what it feels like to be human now that he has a frame of reference for me."

 **A/N: the italicized part of Bitza's story is paraphrasing a couple quotes from** **Winchester Under the Bed** **by penpenhooray, a Supernatural and Teen Wolf crossover. I loved the idea of monsters using Winchesters to tell, not ghost stories I guess, but scary stories to tell their kids at bedtime. I tried to PM and ask if I could borrow the line, but she never got back to me. I hope she doesn't mind. {{innocent look}}**


	6. Chuck

**(6) Chuck**

Have you ever wondered why one parking spot looks so much better than another? Really think about it the next time you're cruising the lot looking for an empty space. Is the spot you suddenly decide you want really that much closer to the front door than the last? Does it really make that much difference to you?

Here's a secret for you fleshy human beings: Its not you, its your car. And you never even knew it.

"Baby!" a car's voice called across the parking lot, "Baby! Over here!"

"Vicky!" Baby cried happily. She hadn't seen her best friend for a few years now. "Hang on!"

The classic Impala focused inward on her driver. "C'mon, Dean. C'mon, Sweetness. Normally, I'd leave it up to you where we stop. You know how much I love meeting new people, but this time let's do this my way. Right there. Park us there."

Unaware of his car's prompting, Dean Winchester eased the vehicle into the parking spot next to the black 1985 Ford Crown Victoria, about as far away from the front as they could be.

"Dude, why are we parking way back here?" Sam demanded of his brother. "Isn't this the employee parking?"

Dean looked around the parking lot and at all the open spaces right by the door. He shrugged. "The cars next to all the available spaces looked like the kind of douches who would ding up our doors when they got back in."

Sam shook his head at his brother's antics, but didn't question it any further.

They never did.

"Baby! What brings you to Burbank?" the smaller black car greeted.

"Same old, same old." Baby laughed. "Saving people. Hunting things. What about you? Last I saw you, you and your colonel were hanging around Langley, Virginia. What are you doing on this side of the country?"

"Reassignment. You know how it goes," Vicky answered easily. "My driver's deep under cover at the electronics store of all places. We've been here long enough, I actually have a garage that feels like its mine, you know? Its nice, going at a slower pace."

"Can't be too boring," Baby drawled. "You've been reconditioned at least twice. You've got body features from a '88 and a '91 these days. And don't think I didn't notice you're sitting a little different. What nifty spy features did your driver have installed this time?"

"Missile launcher. And a remote 'arrest the driver' function," Vicky bragged. Then she sighed. "There's not a whole lot left of my original parts. After the explosion, Casey had me rebuilt from the ground up, but I'm more replacement parts than me these days."

"The essence of who and what we are, is more than the sum our parts," Baby reminded her friend firmly. "Your Casey still loves you. Almost as much as my boys love me."

"Thanks. I needed to hear that." Vicky shook off her melancholy. "Enough of my moping. Don't think I was too distracted to notice that you've had some serious work done, too. Your Dean did an amazing job with the restoration, but I can see it in your lines. Somebody's getting wrinkles. But I suppose I shouldn't tease the old lady. I mean, you've got what? Twenty years on me?"

Baby cracked up laughing. "Only eighteen, you little snot."

"Oh, so sorry. Eighteen is so much better than twenty."

"Did I tell you that my boys have a permanent place of their own now, too? Out in Kansas. I have to share space with this pissy '56 Ford Thunderbird convertible. She's avocado green and thinks that's a great color. She thinks black is 'only for cars who have no personality or no other choice in the matter'. I've tried to be nice, I have, but she's been without a driver for so long..."

"She's jealous of your boys and you know it," Vicky chided.

"And scared of never getting out on the road again, I know." Baby sighed. "I feel so bad for her, stuck down there. But Dean would never pick anyone else over me. And she's too eye-catching for Sam to use her to run around town when Dean and I are already out. My boys need to keep a low profile."

"Your classy self is probably pushing it enough as is," Vicky agreed.

"On her other side is this guy, '32 Ford Model B; now he's a nice old guy. Pretty much resigned to being a show car and enjoying retirement. He was so freaking ecstatic when Dean gave him a wash and a tune up, its hard not to like him."

"Should a certain muscle car down the Georgia way be jealous?" Vicky teased.

Baby snorted. "No. Never. I just wish I knew a way to get us parked next to each other more often."


	7. Starsky and Hutch

**(7) Starsky & Hutch **

"Whoo-hoo!" Baby squealed, taking a corner hard and fast. Her heavy steel frame and wide body style kept her in control of the momentum. "Suck my exhaust, Striped Tomato!"

Not far behind her the tomato-red '75 Ford Gran Torino whipped around the same corner in pursuit with his police siren wailing. His body weight wasn't quite up to the same stunt and he skidded sideways several feet before his detective driver corrected. "You are going down, you worthless blob of tar!" He called forward in mock fierceness. "We always catch our guy!"

Driver's concerns never bothered cars. Cars loved to drive; its what they were built for: revving engines, spinning tires. The spirit of the vehicle reveled in smooth highways or old dirt road spin outs. The Gran Torino loved that he had an excuse for more than his usual start and stop city driving.

"Not my boys!" Baby called back as Dean maneuvered them through a tight squeeze alleyway without even scratching her paint.

Starsky cranked his steering wheel to follow, once again skidding sideways, creaming trash cans, and dinging up car doors. "Hey careful up there! That stung!"

"Wuss!" Baby teased with a laugh.

"Spin on gravel!" the Ford retorted, also laughing. "Lady, this is my town. No one shows me up in my own house."

Baby looked forward at the open intersection and knew what Dean had in mind for their getaway. "You liked that last turn, did ya? Watch this next one."

Exactly when his car knew he would, Dean threw her gear-shifter into neutral and cranked the wheel left. Being in neutral allowed her to spin as needed without tearing apart her transmission and stressing her engine. Dean guided her through a carefully controlled 180 degree turn; her previous momentum translating into an incredibly tight turn.

One their pursuers couldn't match. The Striped Tomato and his driver shot past them.

Dean shifted back into drive and Baby's powerful engine launched them forward, back the way they came.

It didn't take long for Starsky to circle around the block, take a few short cuts, and get back hot on their trail. Like the Tomato said, this was his house. The police detective knew every road and alley by heart and instinct.

"Hello again, hot stuff. Thought you got rid of me?" Striped Tomato demanded with a smirk.

Baby just laughed, light and good-natured.

After another swerve and dodge around pedestrians, the Gran Torino had to admit, "Your driver is good. He really knows what you can do."

"My driver and my mechanic," Baby added proudly. "My other boy? Sam could draw a map of any city he's ridden through with his eyes closed. You are _so_ going to loose us."

"Bull," Striped Tomato retorted. "You are headed for a road closed for construction. My house, remember? Knowing the lay of the land trumps excellent driver. Unless you can fly, this is a dead end."

Baby looked ahead to see what he meant. Dean saw it, too; which meant he was thinking the same thing she was.

"Striped Tomato, its been fun. Honest. Its a shame our drivers couldn't get along."  
"Likewise, Baby."

"But we are not caught yet," Baby informed him. "Wanna see a trick my boyfriend taught us?" Dean gunned her engine and launched them up a construction walkway. She felt her tires leave the ground as they went aerial.

A lot of professional stunt drivers talk about physics and angles; and that worked for them.

This wasn't that.

Baby reached deep inside, communicating with her boys' subconscious. For those precious few seconds the humans could feel the car's weight, her balance. How the pressure of the air and the slipstream flowed around her. Each man leaned right or left, forward or back, as she needed them to in perfect concert to keep her perpendicular with the ground. And in the grand tradition of car and driver, the two humans didn't even realize that they were doing it.

She landed with a pained grunt (Dean would have to work on her shocks and struts later), but she also landed on all four tires, pointed in the right direction, on open road.

Behind her, the Striped Tomato hit the air. His driver undoubtedly loved him, but their bond didn't run as deep or long as Baby's. Nor did he have a malleable connection with the passenger. They touched down left side first, blowing out his weak front tire.

"Tough break, Tomato!" Baby called back. "Its been fun."

As Starsky and Hutch tossed recriminations and insults back and forth, their car could only watch the sleek, black muscle car zoom away.

"What a woman," he sighed. "Wonder who the boyfriend is, lucky devil."


	8. Mercy Thompson

**(8) Mercy Thompson**

A/N- Shameless referencing to my previous fics "Find Your Wat to it, Every Time" and "This is What We Do, Every Time" in this, but nothing that should interupt the flow if you haven't read them. Short version: They're all friends these days. So, party at Mercy's place.

Baby didn't get to see this much. There they were, her boys: talking and laughing, eating steak and drinking beer, surrounded by friends. That made her happy; her boys could use some more friends in their lives. Usually, when they did allow themselves the downtime, Sam and Dean disappeared into buildings. They brought good feelings back to the car with them, but she rarely got to see for herself the cause of those happy times.

Happy times like today: sitting and watching the outdoor grill party. Just enjoying the great weather and the heart-warming scenery.

"I could watch this forever," a small voice sighed. The voice creaked with age and the tired sound associated with a scrap car who knew it would never drive again. It was hard to hear over the cacophony of the rest of the parking lot, and it took Baby a minute to trace down the car speaking: an early 80's Volkswagon Rabbit. The old girl only had one tire left on her and whoever set up the blocks hadn't even tried to keep her level. Pieces and parts were missing all over. Then someone felt the need to cover one side in graffiti: For a Good Time Call! ( **Why** do humans like to spray paint cars, anyway?)

Baby's heart went out to the scrapper. "Me, too."

The Rabbit seemed startled to be addressed. Clearly she had been in the grass on the edge of the property for a long time, so long that the locals seemed to forget she was still a car. "What?"

"I could watch this forever, too. People being happy," Baby elaborated. "My driver does too; he'll sit in a park on a sunny day just to watch children play. Watch life happen."

"Not very many of the younger makes or the faster models really seem to appreciate that," the Rabbit noted.

She wasn't that old in terms of years, but cars don't age the same way people do. Cars age according to the life they have left. And they always know when its coming; they know how much wear and tear they've got left, how much rust is creeping up their frame. (Assuming their drivers avoid accidents, of course.) If magic suddenly made them human, the Rabbit would look like a frail old grandmother while the Impala would barely be middle-aged.

Let's hear it for preventative maintenance, boys and girls.

Baby eyeballed the rest of the Pack's vehicles, none of them were older than ten years, and all of them were studiously avoiding being dragged into the conversation. Stuck-up prigs. "Well, I'm not exactly a spring chicken, now am I?" Baby rejoined lightly. "I learned a long time ago that rust isn't contagious. See, my boys kinda have a family scrapyard. I got a more than a few parts on me from my sisters in that yard. And they tell the best stories when we're there getting me fixed up. I bet you got a few. Wanna tell me about your last driver?"

The Rabbit considered for a moment. "Before Mercy, I actually belonged to a Wolf named Rafferty and kind of belonged to his cousin Catcher. The pairs' mothers were twin sisters, so they looked a lot alike. One day when they were teenagers, Catcher swiped Rafferty's driver's liscence and used it to pretend to be the older cousin so he could sell the other boy's mustang. Then bought me with the money. Catcher registered me under Rafferty's name, you see." The old wreck laughed. "The Pack gave Rafferty crap for days, weeks, for being a Wolf and puttering around in a too-small Rabbit. When asked why he didn't sell me off again, Rafferty answered that it was because he was 'too damn busy to mess with this bullshit.' In reality, he liked me because his cousin bought me for him."

Baby chuckled at the story. "I think I would have liked those two."

"Now, I am Mercy's punishment for whenever her husband annoys her. Adam likes things neat and orderly, so seeing me sitting outside his window off kilter and missing an door drives him up the wall."

"And the graffiti?" Baby prodded.

"His daughter's idea," the Rabbit chuckled fondly. "I may not be her transportation anymore, but this isn't a bad retirement. What about you? Any good stories to share about your last driver?"

It took Baby a moment to think that far back. She was so young then, and barely aware. "His name was Sal Moriarty... when he was drunk, he liked to say he was descended from Professor James Moriarty. You know, the Sherlock Holmes character? And he was drunk a lot. He would try to convince anyone who'd listen what a secret mastermind he was." The older Impala laughed softly. "Both of his ex-wives disagreed with him."

The Rabbit laughed, too.


	9. Christine

**(9) Christine**

The personality of a car is directly related to the personality of its driver. They grow together, like a family. Having baby Sammy and toddler Dean practically living in her backseat, really brought out the mother in the old Impala. Having Papa Bear John Winchester in the front seat gave her a powerful sense of right and wrong. Someday she knew it would get her in as much trouble as it had gotten for her boys, but she didn't care.

Sam and Dean and Baby were cruising down some back road in Pennsylvania when Baby saw a sign that her time for trouble had come. Specifically, she saw a road sign pointing the way to Libertyville. Their last job was over; her boys were tired and a little beat up (not that being worse for wear was unusual). She wanted nothing more than to take them home.

But Baby had been hearing rumors about Libertyville for a long time.

Rumors of a car gone terribly, terribly wrong. A car who perverted the bond between driver and vehicle; reversed it to adversely affect the human behind the wheel.

Focusing inward, Baby looked to Dean. "Sweetness, I know you're tired, but we need to do this. Please. Pull over in Libertyville. They'll have a decent motel to crash for the night. C'mon, Sweetness, you're tired; go ahead and call it a night. Do it for me?"

Dean Winchester yawned. "Mind stopping for the night, Sammy?"

Hours later, in the dark of night, a Hunter's car decided it was now or never. " **Christine**!" she bellowed into the black. All around her, local cars startled out of their thoughts to focus on the sudden noise. " **Christine! I've heard a lot about you. They saw you can drive around on your own. That you're supposed to be scary or something! Well, I call BULL!"**

"Shut up!" a gray Nissan Versa hissed.

"Are you nuts?" a teal Pontiac Sunfire whispered. "You'll bring that whack job over here!"

"Trust me, lady, that's the last thing you want to do," a green Toyota Camry added.

In her normal tone, Baby answered. "Actually, that's exactly what I want."

"What?!" all three cried in dismay.

 **"Christine! I know you can hear me, this town ain't big enough for you to be too far away."** Baby called as far as her voice could reach. **"I dare you to come over here and prove you drive without a driver. I DARE you!"**

Suddenly, a big engine revved in the dark. Headlights flicked on.

"Oh, crap," the Sunfire whimpered.

The engine belonged to a '58 Plymouth Fury, cherry red with a white roof and racing stripe. The car very purposefully steered itself under a streetlight to show no human sat in her driver's seat. "You're new around here," Christine noted, her voice honey sweet. Deliberately, she rolled bumper to bumper with Baby, rocking the Impala on her shocks.

"Yep, just passing through," Baby agreed. "Heard a lot about you."

"Oh?"

"Mm-hmm. I heard that a hunter tried to salt and burn you back in the 80's, for running down and killing folk who dared come between you and your driver," Baby elaborated.

"The hunter tried," Christine admitted easily. All the while slowly putting more pressure on Baby's bumper. Sooner it would start to buckle. "Didn't take."

"I see that," Baby tried not to let the strain show in her voice.

"So you wanted to call my bull?" Christine inquired, sickeningly sweet. The Fury leaned even harder, and finally Baby's grill gave a creaking groan and bent in on itself. "Tell me, am I scary? Like they say?"

Baby managed to laugh. "I've had scarier than you locked in my trunk. But I do have something to tell you."

"Oh?" Christine repeated politely, her front bumper still grinding down.

"Yep, listen close." Baby belted out the next bit as fast as she could, before Christine could realize what was happening:

 _"_ _Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus_. (We exorcise you, every impure spirit). _Omnipotentis Dei potestatem invoco. (_ I invoke the power and authority of God). _Domine expuet. (_ Lord, Reveal her). _Adiuramus te, cessa decipere humanas creaturas_. (We adure you, cease to deceive human creatures.) _Te rogamus, audi nos! (_ We pray, hear us!) _"_

The Fury shrieked in shock and pain as her metal began to rust away. She rolled back a foot before too many pieces and parts started fell off and she couldn't move anymore. Her screams echoed into silence as the spirit lost its grip on its body and died a final death. All that was left was a pile of unrecognizable, twisted and rusted metal.

Later, in the morning, Dean would wake up and throw a fit thinking that someone moving scrap was stupid enough to leave their load loose, causing a hard bump to bounce the rusty mess out of the hauler, damaging his Baby. There would be much swearing, many death threats and one panic attack. Not necessarily in that order.

Not long after that, a horror story survivor would find a yellow license plate reading 'CBQ 241' in the mess. And he would dare to hope that it really was all over.


	10. Eureka

**(10) Eureka**

 _A/N: Written for missmeow1968. Thanks for the reviews and the requests!_

Baby sat in park outside another sheriff's office in another small town while her boys hunted down another potential monster. When put like that, it could sound boring or monotonous, when their lives were anything but. The Impala wondered what new challenge waited for them in Eureka.

"Psst!" A voice hissed to her left. Beside her sat a '94 Jeep Cherokee Sport wearing a brand new Eureka Sheriff paint job. "You're new around here." It wasn't a question.

Baby didn't know why he was whispering, so she kept her voice soft when she replied, "Yeah."

"If you have any influence on your driver at all, you'll get out. You'll get out now, while you still can!" The Jeep's voice vibrated with passion, even at the lower volume. He wanted to be believed, listened to.

It wasn't the first time her boys had taken them to a hunt dangerous enough to scare the local vehicle population. When that happened, Baby did her best to subconsciously offer her boys inspiration about what to look for. Yes, it was hit and miss when Dean would cruise around town to organise his thoughts; but the occasional 'epiphany moment' for her driver made her try.

With that in mind, Baby answered the Jeep gently. "Its okay. Whatever is going on around here, my boys are Hunters. We can help."

"Hunters?" the Jeep repeated, and Baby couldn't tell if he was on the verge of laughing or crying.

"My boys are good at what they do," she assured him, letting him hear the faith and trust she had in her boys.

"There is nothing supernatural going on in this town," the Jeep sneered at her. "That, I could handle. Around here, its the scientists you have to look out for."

If car had mouths, Baby's would have dropped open in surprise. "Scientists?"

"Ever since that new sheriff got here, the scientists have all gone bug-nuts! In the past four years I have been blown up, set on fire, launched into space, dropped in a lake, melted, smashed, shaken apart, driven into a damned invisible building, and sucked underground!" As he talked, the Jeep got progressively louder until he was bellowing loud enough for the whole block to hear. "And I am sick of it, do you hear me? Sick of it!"

A dark blue '07 Chevy Impala groaned. "We know, Carl. Alright? We know."

Carl (apparently) was not alright. "Its all his fault! That... that Sheriff Jack Carter. Somehow its all his fault. Almost twenty years, _twenty years_ , I go barely scratching the paint job. Then Sheriff Jack Carter shows up and BOOM. Disaster after disaster."

"You look pretty good for a disaster survivor," Baby offered carefully, not wanting to set him off again. "Someone has been fixing you up."

"Don't even get me started on Henry-Rusting-Deacon!" Carl snarled.

"Oh boy, here we go again," the '07 grumbled quietly.

"Physicist, engineer, mechanic, massive pain in the wiring harness!" Carl roared the last phrase with all the passion he had in him. "He has the know-how and the resources to build me better. You know? A titanium reinforced frame, body armor. Flame resistant paint. Hell, Henry-Rusting-Deacon could load me up with an energy shield if her really wanted to. But does he? No-o-o-oo. And then, _and then_ , he has the nerve to say he's getting gtired of working on me. Well excuse me very much for not having control over my own gears. The rusting _house_ can open and close her own doors, but he won't install that open in me either!"

"You had to get him started?" the '07 grumbled at Baby.

"I-" Baby gaped.

"I wish I could tell Henry-Rusting-Deacon and Sheriff Destruction that the next time I get sucked into a black hole or... or get run over by another Tiny? The next time they should just let me die and be at peace!" Carl sniffed. "Is that too much to ask? Huh? Stop totaling me or stop fixing me. I don't even care which one anymore, just pick one."

When Sam and Dean got back in their car later that day, they both felt the same well of safety and home and love. Neither commented on it, but the leather seats felt particularly comfortable, almost like they were being hugged. Neither knew why they felt it so strongly in that moment, or where the reminder came from, but it didn't matter. The car knew.

Baby was thanking them and her lucky stars that she'd won the driver lottery.


	11. Scooby Doo

**(11) Scooby Doo**

 _A/N: For Dr. Serpico. Thanks for the reviews and the request!_

It was a dark and stormy night. A full moon hung half-hidden behind the wind-blown clouds casting shadows across the overgrown grounds. Two vehicles sit, almost side by side, separated only by the swishing of tall grass. In the distance, an unearthly howl echoed throughout the empty landscape. Two men, two women and one dog boldly walk in the front door. Two brothers cautiously creep in the back...

"So, a classic muscle car and a vintage minivan park outside a famously cursed but otherwise abandoned mansion. That's either the opening of a good joke or a really bad horror movie," Baby mused.

"I vote on the good joke," the van chuckled. "I get enough badly dressed, fake monsters during our day job. I don't need to walk into some B-rated thriller surrounded by sad rubber masks."

"Oh? Are your drivers part of Hollywood or something?" Baby asked. "Did your producer pick an actual haunted house for a film set?"

The van didn't answer for a moment, clearly thinking about what it should say. At length, it answered, "My driver and his friends are investigating the so-called monster that's been causing all the accidents and scaring off the construction crew. I'm the Mystery Machine. That's kind of what we do, roam the country solving bizarre mysteries."

"Yeah? Me and my boys do the same thing," Baby told the van proudly. "They've ganked all kinds of ghosts, werewolves, demons... Anything and everything that's causing problems, my boys handle it. Saving people and hunting things all over the map."

The Mystery Machine fell silent again, making Baby wonder what was up with it. It was a '72 Bedford CF, all decked out in blue base paint with psychedelic flowers. There was a more than good possibility it had been turned into a stoke house one too many times and the fumes were affecting its thinking.

"What's your name? I don't think I caught it," it asked finally.

"Baby."

"Baby, what year are you?"

"I came off the line in 1967. Been with my boys since 1979." Baby didn't know why the Mystery Machine was doing with this line of questioning, but she was willing enough to play along."

"I can't decide if its your age or your driver..." the van muttered to itself.

"What?!" Baby demanded, becoming defensive and a little pissed.

"I thought you would have figured it out by now." The Mystery Machine tried and failed to keep the condescension out of its voice. "Baby, I hate to be the one to break it to you but, monsters aren't real. There's no such thing as ghosts."

The Impala had to hold back her reaction. She didn't know if she should laugh her ass off or be horribly offended. But the younger Bedford believed what it was saying too much. "Really?" she managed.

"Really," the Mystery Machine answered in all sincerity. "My driver and his friends have been debunking ghost stories since I came off the line, okay? In all those years, it has never, not once, been a real monster. Its always a guy in a mask, a woman in a costume, a holographic projection with a surround sound system. If they were real, we would have found them by now.

"Say it with me, Baby: Monsters aren't real."

Somewhere, Chuck must have a great sense of comedic timing. Because right about there, the domovoy the Winchesters had been tracking burst into the scene carrying a redheaded woman over one shoulder.

Catching sight of the van, the monster tossed his captive to one side and ripped the luggage rack right off the top of the Mystery Machine. Metal screeched and bolts zinged off in all directions into the dark. The Bedford knew then that whatever this was, it was way stronger than any human in a mask could ever be. It squalled in shock and pain.

The domovoy whirled, weapon at the ready to face his pursuers.

Baby's boys materialized out of the darkness and the two Hunters open fired with both barrels. Blood and gore exploded in all directions, coating Baby's windshield and Mystery Machine's side paneling.

"Man!" Dean whined. He popped open Baby's driver's door to flip on the windshield wipers. After a few swipes, they had a clean spot for seeing while driving. Man and car knew from experience that if he waited too long, congealed blood took scrubbing before they could hit the road.

Two vehicles, four men, two women and one Great Dane watched as the spirit-made-flesh dissolved into nothing. Courtesy of a lot of consecrated iron buckshot. The dog and his owner passed out from shock before it was completely gone.

The humans couldn't hear it, but the Impala broke the silence first. "So. Mystery Machine, I hate to be the one to break it to you...but monsters ARE real."


	12. Agents of SHIELD

**(12) Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D**

 _A/N: Written for kmj1989. Thanks for the reviews and requests!_

Baby had learned a lot of useless facts from Sam's reading in the car. First from books when he was a boy, then his laptop as a young man. These days it was podcasts. Chuck only knew when she'd use it all, but still.

For instance: Baby knew that eyebrows were an important facial feature on humans. There was a study done where a man shaved off his eyebrows then introduced himself to strangers. Most of the people polled could tell the reporter that something unnerved them about the man, but they couldn't explain exactly why.

Today, Baby commiserated with that study group. Something about the red '62 Chevrolet Corvette parked next to her felt... off. She simply couldn't point her fender to the reason why.

Finally, the Corvette broke. "I'm sorry, this is probably not my business, but my driver's stock in trade in information, so I have to ask. If I'm overstepping, tell me to buzz off, okay?"

"Okay...?" Baby wondered what in the world could be weird about _her_. What was weird about her?

"Are you sure you're just a car?" She blurted. "Because you have a kind of RV feel to you. You know, the home vibe you get from vehicles that double as a human's shelter?"

Baby laughed. "Like the broken down school bus that has become a sleeping dorm for the homeless? Yeah, I know what you're talking about. I am most definitely a car, but for a long time I was the only home my boys knew. Motel rooms and me."

"Ah, that would explain it." The Corvette chuckled. "Again, sorry to pry, but the sense of... not-car was nagging at me."

"Now. Can I ask you a question? Same rules about buzzing off apply," Baby ventured.

"Fair is fair."

"Something about you feels... what did you call it? Not-car. I didn't know how to ask before without sounding mean, but it was bugging me," Baby offered sheepishly.

"Oh, you noticed? Its because I can fly." The red car's voice stayed matter of fact.

A little too matter of fact. For a moment, the Impala honestly wondered if the other car was pulling her axle, or if she was serious. "You can fly?"

"Technically, I am hover-capable, not flight capable. But that's splitting hairs if you ask me. There's a repulsor inside each tire rim; they fold down. My designer called it the Levitating Over Land Automobile system. Thankfully, my first driver went with Lola. Now his son does, too."

For a full minute, Baby could only gape. "What's it like? Flying? Do you like it?"

"Mmm... I'm still mixed, to be honest," Lola admitted. "I love the lack of potholes and speed bumps. Really helps ease the aching suspension. You know I started out with a solid axle suspension system? Sixty-two was the last year they put those on my make, and good riddance."

Baby thought of her own shocks after that ridiculously under-maintained back road.

"But flying, well. I still panic every now and then that I can't feel the asphalt under my tires. Bus keeps telling me to feel the air pressure around me instead of reaching for the ground, but I think that only works on planes. Once, I fell out of Bus mid-flight, I panicked so bad that Phil had a hard time getting me started. He could have died," Lola whispered her last sentence.

"Sounds like when Sammy first learned to shoot," Baby mused. "The sound hurt his ears so bad, he got startled and broke stance. When human's are that little, breaking stance means the recoil kicks back hard enough to bloody the poor little guy's nose. It took his dad and his brother all kinds of cajoling and bribery to get him to try again."

"What happened?"

Baby chuckled. "The only person in the world that can shoot better than my Sammy? Is my Dean."

"So, practice makes perfect, huh?" Lola asked dryly.

"Hey, not many cars get to learn something new," Baby reminded. "We might as well learn what we can from humanity. They seem to have the whole 'lots to learn' thing down."

"That they do," Lola agreed. "Thanks for listening to me whine about the upgrades."

Baby barked a laugh. "Upgrades, yeah. Massive upgrade that, flying. And to think, Sam still gives Dean crap about the cassette player."


	13. 1966 Batman

**(13) 1966 Batman**

 _A/N: For Oro Rosa. Thanks for the reviews and the requests!_

"Remove your hands from my steering wheel, you miscreant!"

Baby could hear the other vehicle bellowing his indignation from blocks away. She didn't blame him, really. The handful of times she'd been towed or impounded, Baby had shouted worse threats at the clueless humans manhandling her. When the demon possessing _her_ Sammy slid onto her custom leather seats, she'd spat every obscenity she knew in every language she could.

"How dare you!" The bellowing continued, coming closer. "Thief! Kidnapper! Do you know who I am?! You can't do this to me, you ruffian!"

Sam must have heard the approaching engine noise (he couldn't hear the hollering) because he moved to open the garage door of the abandoned gas station/ mechanic shop to let the angry car in.

"Dear God! Tell me this isn't a chop shop! I've heard of those," the newcomer wailed in distress. "You neanderthals can't possibly mean to render me down for parts! I sold at auction for over four million dollars. Four million! I was hand-crafted in Turin, Italy; I am a one of a kind concept car, never run into production. I am NOT a parts car! My parts won't even be usable in another vehicle."

Dean parked the stolen car and got out. He and Sam started talking while rummaging for tools. Dean kept repeating, "I got to drive the Batmobile! The freaking Batmobile, Sammy! Today, I am Batman!"

The sleek black '55 Lincoln Futura was still shouting about the unfairness of life when he finally noticed the Impala already parked inside. "Have you been abducted by these... these highwaymen as well, my dear? Take heart and be brave. I am equipped with a GPS tracking system. These crooks will never get away with this. Help will be coming soon."

"Uh, actually, those two are my drivers," Baby stammered.

"Collaborator!" The Lincoln declaimed. "Do you know who you are dealing with here?!"

"Of course! You're the Batmobile. The original 1966 TV series Batmobile. I am a huge, huge fan, by the way," Baby gushed. "I even caught your performance in _It Started With a Kiss._ From 1959 when you were still red. My boys' dad, John, loved that flick so much."

"Well, thank you very much, madame," Batmobile returned graciously, his panic over having been stolen momentarily forgotten. "Ms. Debbie Reynolds was a wonderfully classy lady and Mr. Glenn Ford was ever the consummate gentleman. I'll admit, I much preferred working on the big screen."

"Really? What was the difference?" Baby wondered.

Batmobile sniffed. "Quality of respect. To be made over into Mr. Adam West's screen companion, I had to suffer the indignity of having a modified five gallon paint can welder to my bumper. A paint can, madame! Paint cans should not be attached to cars."

Right about there, Dean popped open the Batmobile's driver door tools in hand and began to fiddle under the dash. "Holy vengeful spirit, Batman! There's a ghost attached to the Batmobile!"

Sam snorted in amusement, but refused to comment.

"What is that Luddite doing?!" Batmobile demanded.

"Its okay," Baby reassured. "Do you remember having a new steering wheel installed back in season two of Batman?"

"Vaguely," Batmobile told her, clearly wondering where this was going.

"It was from a '58 Ford Edsel that had been cursed. My boys are Hunters, it's taken them forever to track down all the parts from that old boy," Baby explained. "Your steering wheel is the last piece."

"My steering wheel is cursed?!" Batmobile shuddered. "That's- that's horrifying! What kind of curse? What do I do? Am I in danger?"

"Easy, you will be fine," Baby soothed. "It's been causing anyone who touches the steering wheel but the owner to die a week later. Its been hell on my poor boys figuring all that out."

"Now what happens?"

"Dean will remove the steering wheel. My boys will salt and burn the thing, then we'll drive away. Your driver will follow your GPS right to you and you'll be home by morning," Baby finished.

"That doesn't sound awful," Batmobile sighed.

"And I'll be able to tell everyone that I met you in person."


	14. Ash vs Evil Dead

**(14) Ash vs. Evil Dead**

 _A/N: For cmr2014. Thanks for the reviews and requests._

Baby had sat outside of sleazy bars, skeevy motels, and mom and pop diners so often that she had lost count of them all. She'd chatted with minivans about family, argued with smart cars about gas versus electric, and swapped road stories with tour buses. Even when she's parked next to other Hunter's cars, they mostly talked about the fugly bodies their drivers stashed in the trunk (Baby always won the most unique passenger contest). It was small talk to pass the time.

This cream-colored '73 Oldsmobile Delta 88 was certainly _using_ the time.

"... so my driver brought that damned book back from the creepy ass cabin. Its been safe for the last thirty years in a footlocker in his trailer. No dumb ass teenagers gonna summon dark magic from in there. And that, Sweet Cheeks, is how my driver saved the world from a demonic zombie apocalypse." Classic proudly wrapped up his story.

Baby fought to keep from letting too much sarcasm color her voice. "Wow. Three hours ago, when I last got a word in edgewise and asked if you had any good stories to share, I was not expecting _that_."

"Impressive, right?" Classic boasted.

"You certainly gave all the details a girl could ever want to hear," Baby drawled. "So, just to clarify, this all happened _before_ he got stoned out of his mind and summoned a _second_ demonic zombie apocalypse, right?"

"Aw, come on Sugar Britches," Classic cajoled. "You're not going to hold one bad call on his day off against Ash, now are you? He dropped everything and fixed it."

"Right, because anyone could have accidentally started a demonic zombie apocalypse on their day off. It happens all the time, I'm sure." Baby snorted. "How is your Ash still alive?"

Classic laughed. "A sawed-off shotgun and a chainsaw instead of a hand (he had to replace the evil-infested hand he cut off, y'know) kills just about any Deadite he comes across. Once, he stabbed a Deadite completely dead with a shattered beer bottle, right here in my driver's seat. While driving. Him and Pablo got Deadite blood all over the upholstery. You ever been baptized into the Monster Hunting life by Deadite blood, Baby?"

The Impala barked a laugh. "Baptized into the Hunting life, huh? Hmm... let's see. Vampire blood across the windshield. Demon blood in the trunk. Decapitated a ghul-pire by slamming my passenger door a lot. Bloody and wounded Lucifer in the backseat. Nope. No Deadites."

"Lucifer? Vampire? Demon?" Classic repeated, bewildered. "What the hell is a ghul-pire?

"The species' real name is Nachzehrer according to Castiel, but Dean's stuck with ghul-pire. Easier to say," Baby explained.

"Wait, your drivers are hunters, too? Like, for real, full time, monster hunters? That's a thing?" Classic stuttered. "That's a real thing?"

Baby was saved from answering for a moment as their respective drivers approached.

"So we're good, right?" Ash was saying, following on the Winchesters' heels with Pablo and Kelley at his heels. "You handle crap like this all the time?"

"More often than every thirty years," Baby muttered. Not that Ash Williams could hear her.

"We are cherry," Dean affirmed. "We'll stash the demon zombie book in the Bunker on the 'Do Not Read' shelf; far, far away from anyone who wants to use it." Then he added in a low voice to his brother, "On purpose or otherwise."

Sam popped open Baby's trunk and came up with the heavy duty curse box her boys had started carrying around ever since the Grand Coven became a thing they had to deal with. "Yeah, we'll put the Necronomicon Ex-Mortis in the section next to the Book of the Damned, Nadia's Codex and the Laughlin Grimoire. No one's allowed near those, either."

"Holy Shit, Baby! You weren't blowing clear air!" Classic yelped, catching his first real look at the arsenal and the lore books.

"Book of the Damned?" Ash repeated, unaware of his car's surprise. "Man, that sounds heavy."

"Oh, you know. Crazy nun writing spells in her blood on her own sliced off skin. The usual." Dean snarked. Then he dropped the leather-faced book into the box and Sam closed it with a snap. All the humans dropped some of the tension in their shoulders. They hadn't realized how much being around the evil book had been bothering them until the pressure suddenly lifted.

"I can't hear it anymore!" Classic exclaimed. "Every since I got possessed by the f**king thing and it used me to kill people, its been whispering at me. Telling me I could drive myself around again if I would just let it use me. But now the voice is gone! Its quiet!"

Baby gentled her voice. Getting possessed and trying to kill her drivers was something she could relate to. It sucked. Understatement. "I promise. My boys will lock it down tight. It will never bother you again."

"Thanks, Baby. That's real sweet of you," Classic told her gratefully. Then he ruined the moment by dropping his voice down to 'smarmy' and adding, "So, you dating anyone?"

"Yes, I do, actually," she answered. "I hope we'll be heading back down to Georgia to see him soon."


	15. Dr Who

**(15) Dr. Who**

 _A/N: For missmeow1968, who has given me so many wonderful ideas to work with._

"o0*O() ()Q+ooO0," the voice sounded sad, but for the life of her, Baby couldn't make heads or tails of the words.

Baby recognized the make and model of the car. The little yellow car was a limited edition 1954 Edwardian Tourer kit car from Siva And Neville Trickett Ltd of Dorset imposed on a E93A Ford chassis with a fiberglass body kit, which also included seats and trims. It really was an adorable little car.

But this one had been in storage unit for a long time by herself. And apparently, the poor thing had forgotten how to speak.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. I didn't catch that," Baby told her as gently as she could. Old cars who'd been alone without their driver or without the community of a scrap yard could develop dementia, just like people could when they aged.

"Oh, my apologies, miss," the Tourer returned briskly, her voice lightly accented and clear of any disorientation. "I switched back to Gallifreyan there, didn't I? I guess I was hoping it would be him when that door opened."

"Galifreyan?" Baby repeated. "I've heard of a lot of languages, but I'm not familiar with that one."

"My driver spoke it," the Tourer explained. "He's probably the only man on earth who's fluent."

"Sounds like he's been gone for a while," Baby noted. "If you are waiting for him to open the door."

"He travels in his _other_ vehicle more often than me," she admitted. "Sexy was designed to go a lot further than I. So he only uses me, old dependable Bessie, when he's grounded."

"I take it you spend a lot of time here in storage. I'm sorry."

"No worries. I've had my adventures, too." Bessie verbally waved off the Impala's concern. "May I ask, what are you and your drivers doing here?"

"Looking for an artifact of some kind. They were a little sketchy on the details in my seats, most of the talking got done at home," Baby offered. "I think its supposed to help keep them from getting thrown across the room by angels and demons."

"So where are we looking?" Dean's voice interrupted the cars' discussion, directed at his brother.

"According to the Men of Letters' files, there's a basement around here. There's supposed to be an access hatch in the middle of the floor," Sam answered.

"Soooo, underneath that beauty?" Dean gestured to Bessie. "Do you see the keys anywhere?"

"No, and we don't really have time to look." Sam eyeballed the Tourer. "It can't be that heavy. Put it in neutral and let's roll it out of the way."

"Sam! Have a little respect for a classy lady like this?" Dean reprimanded his little brother. To the car, Dean continued. "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. He doesn't appreciate a fine car like you."

Bessie giggled. "I like him."

Baby snorted. "Most women do," she told the other car dryly.

"Does he know that we can hear him?" Bessie wanted to know.

"He has a heart for all things mechanical." Baby explained warmly. "And a big heart all around. He likes taking care of things: people, cars, anything that needs it."

The Winchesters got in place behind the car to roll her out of the way.

"Uhh... That's probably a bad idea..." Bessie began, but a buzz interrupted her sentence.

Sam and Dean found themselves stuck to the Tourer's frame, unable to pull their hands away from the fiberglass. Both began straining and cursing, trying to free themselves.

"Bad idea?" Baby prompted.

"Anti-theft device," Bessie explained. "They'll be stuck like that for hours. Or until the American branch of UNIT realizes something is wrong. And arrests them."

Baby swore. Eloquently. "I hate impound. And my boys don't deserve to be in jail."

"Hunters, eh?" Bessie asked. "Fighting the good fight for king and country?"

"For people," Baby corrected. "Saving people. Hunting things. In that order."

"Oh, come on!" Dean growled, ineffectually giving his bound hands another tug. "Listen, if Sam says he's sorry for the 'it' comment, will you let us go? Pretty Please?"

"Dean, its a car," Sam groaned. "Its doesn't-"

"Sam!"

Sam heaved the biggest sigh, the way only a little brother can, and grudgingly began to speak. "Fine. Look, car, I'm sorry I called you an it. Living with Dean, I should have known better. Happy?"

Bessie giggled again. "I really do like your driver, Baby. I suppose I'll help you three out."

"How-?" Baby began, but didn't get to finish.

With another buzz, both Winchesters suddenly fell away from the yellow Tourer. With a cheery honk of her air horn, Bessie turned over her engine and rolled off of the trap door.

"Did that car just...?" Sam gaped.

"Bessie!" Baby yelped in surprise.

"Did I mention that Gallifrey is another planet?"


	16. Dukes of Hazzard

**(16) Dukes of Hazzard**

Dean loved driving in his Impala, loved the strength of the 275 horsepower of her, loved the comforting familiar rumble of the big V-8 502 Big Block engine, loved her responsiveness to his lightest corrections, loved everything about his Baby. She understood him and made no demands of him. "Hey Sammy, have you ever noticed that whenever we make the trip here to Hazzard County, the Impala runs faster and smoother than usual? Like she really wants to be here."

Underneath her boys, Baby _purred_ at the question. "Yes, I guess I do, Sweetness," she agreed heartily. "I can't help it!"

"Yeah, I noticed. And is it just me, or do the seats get more comfortable, too?" Sam added. "I always wondered if it was the elevation or humidity or something like that."

"Or something, Sugar," Baby chuckled. "But its definitely not the atmosphere."

"He-e-e-ey! Heya, Baby." A car's voice sang the old Alabama song. Still singing, an orange '69 Dodge Charger pulled up next to them. "I wanna know-o-o, if you'll be my girl. When I saw you driving down the street, I thought, that's the kind of girl, I'd like to meet. She's so pretty, my oh my, I'm gonna make her mine all mine!"

"I don't know, General Lee," Baby teased, mock seriously. "Maybe I think I could do better. I've had more than a few offers, you know."

"Darling, don't torment a fella like that," General Lee drawled. "You know how much I miss you when you and your boys are off in the great wide world."

"About half as much as I miss you," Baby returned. "But neither of us would ever abandon our boys. Your Dukes would've crashed and died a long time ago without their connection to you. We both know that."

General Lee laughed, deep and loud. "Baby-Doll, if you hadn't shoved every memory of home and love you ever made through your Sammy's mind to crowd out Lucifer, then my Dukes and the rest of the world would've died years ago. I know that, too. But that don't mean I don't miss my best girl when she's not around."

Baby sighed happily. "You, sweet talker, you."

"Sometimes, I really wish we were human," General Lee groaned a little wistfully. "People get to choose were they live. They get to marry the girl of their dreams."

"White picket fences and two point five kids?" Baby asked. "Like your boys did? I noticed the car-seat in back. Daisy is a grandma these days isn't she?"

"Yeah, she does. If we could have kids, what kind of car would we have, do you think?" General Lee mused. "Another Impala? Another Charger? A new model, something in between?"

"I don't actually like the newest model Impala that much," Baby admitted. "They're all lightweights, half plastic, tame little engines... they're practically sedans. Let's have Chargers. They at least still have a decent engine under the hood."

"Baby, I like the way you think," General Lee chuckled.

"But Honey, as much as I love you, my kid shouldn't be orange."

The orange Charger gasped in mock horror. "You have something against my paint job? Baby. How could you?"

"I like the classics."

"Fine, if we could move in together and have kids, they'd be classic black Dodge Chargers. I could get behind that."

"Actually, I had an idea about that," Baby told him.

"What, having kids?"

"Moving in together," Baby corrected.

"Yeah? Well, don't leave your beau hanging, Baby," General Lee demanded.

"So. My boys have that angel friend I told you about. Castiel? He's been through so much with them that he's become part of the family. Remember I told you he fell asleep for the first time in his existence in my back seat? Anyway. It turns out, that a car CAN make a connection with an angel. If that angel starts feeling for a vehicle the same way a human does."

General Lee snorted. "From what you've told me, not too many halos care about the car."

"No," Baby agreed. "Not many. But you know my Dean: Love the man, love the little brother, love the car. And Castiel does love his human family."

The old Charger whooped in delight. "You got inside 'ol Cas's head."

"Turns out, once an angel figures out how to listen, he can hear my words not just the vague sense of me. I _talked_ with Cas." Baby paused to let that sink in. "He promises that when our boys are all gone for good, whenever that happens, he'll make sure you and me are together. Probably parked in the motor pool in the Bunker. But _together_."

"Hot Damn!" General Lee whooped again. "Hot Damn, Baby! So can have that Cas translate

whatever you want to say to your boys? What'd you tell them about me?"

"Actually, I decided not to," Baby admitted quietly.

"What?! Why?!"

"I like being the car. I don't need more from them than that. And my boys can use all the normal they can get out of life. I don't want to take any more of that than I have to. I'm a car, and if I learned anything from tangling with Christine, its that we should be content with what we have. I don't _need_ any more than what I've got," Baby finished.

General Lee thought about it for a while, about his own boys and how he liked what they had between them, too. "Baby, you are one amazing woman. You know that? Amazing."

"Now, that's not to say that I didn't have Cas fiddle with things. A little. That if I really _needed_ to talk to my boys..." Baby trailed off with a mischievous snicker.

 **A/N: I got distracted by another fic idea. This one isn't dead... But it will be awhile before I get back to it.**

 **Thanks to everyone for the reviews and the suggestions. Its been fun!**


	17. Harry Potter

**(17) Harry Potter**

 _A/N: This one is for my big brother, who heard what I was doing and gave me ideas even though he doesn't read fanfiction. Of course, two small daughters might have something to do with how much spare time he has to just read..._

"Go away! Leave me alone!" The car behind them snarled in a harsh British accent. "Don't wanna, can't make me!"

Dean at Baby's wheel, man and car peeled rubber, trying to keep ahead of the outraged Ford Anglia. Dean swore and shifted into an even higher gear, the little guy was catching up. Baby felt the strain in her engine as it struggled to meet her driver's demands. Whatever happened to the little car behind her, had made it one fast little sucker; far faster than that make and model should be able to.

"Don't want to what? Can't make you do what?" Baby called back, trying to understand. Nothing about this hunt was making sense.

Sam and Dean had decided it was a demon possessed car. Or a ghost car. Or tulpa. Or a mass hallucination of the locals. Okay, so they hadn't decided on anything. All they knew was when a logging company started going deeper into the woods something in the shape of a car had begun to terrorize the loggers. No one had died yet, but there were enough injuries coupled with a "haunted car" to draw the brothers Winchester to investigate.

Baby could tell it was a real, solid car. Without a driver. Yet, there was no aura of wrongness like there had been with Christine. She didn't know what to make of the situation either.

"My woods! Good woods!" The Anglia cried. "No giant spiders run over you! No trees hit you! Good woods! Wanna live here! Tell the people to go away!"

Those woods made the car sound... childish? But that wasn't the right word. It sounded like the car had been absent from company, human or vehicle, for a long time. Mentally regressed, maybe?

So, Baby spoke using smaller words, and simple ideas. "You can live here, if you want. Leave the people alone and they'll leave you alone. They only want the biggest trees. They will go away later."

"NO! My trees! I like these trees! They don't whomp you! Good trees!" the little car wailed, upset and becoming desperate.

It was going to be one of those hunts. Where the monster is lost and scared and doesn't understand why its being hunted. Where nobody really won. Baby hated those hunts, for herself and her boys. She could always feel how much they bothered them; killing a lost soul like that.

"Okay, Baby, here we go," Dean muttered. Man and Impala spun out in a hard sharp turn, narrowly avoiding the pit Sam and Dean dug out with the logging company's back hoe.

The little Ford zipped past them, unable to react fast enough to avoid the nose dive into the six foot deep hole the size of a parking spot.

Sam materialized out from his hiding spot. Bag of salt in hand, he closed the U of salt already poured out around the pit. Ghost,demon, or cursed object, the Angelina was trapped.

Dean put the Impala in park and got out to join his brother. The plan was: they'd try an exorcism, then salt and burn the thing. If those failed, Dean would steal a cement truck to fill the pit.

That last option made Baby more than a little sad.

But none of the plans allowed for what happened next.

The Ford _flew_ up and out of the hole in the ground, out of the salt circle. He hovered in midair for a moment, trying to pick between the fight or flight options before him.

"Easy. Easy, now," Baby soothed, trying to keep the little guy calm. (Trying to keep herself calm in the process, because seriously, a _flying car_!) "It's okay, everything will be okay."

Funny thing was it, her tone seemed to be working. His engine dropped a few RPMs and he slowly floated down to put all four tires back on the ground. "My woods," he grumbled querulously.

Before Baby could figure out what to say next, a soft pop interrupted.

A middle-aged red-headed man, appeared in the clearing. Dressed in some kind of stylized graduation robes, he turned in a small circle until his gaze landed on the Ford. "Ah. There you are."

The Flying Ford Anglia screeched, "WEASLY!" He popped open his four doors and his trunk lid, trying to make himself look bigger. He even lifting his back end a few feet in the air. Like a cat arching its back and bristling its fur. The small four cylinder engine revved as hard and loud as it could, trying to growl at the newcomer.

The newcomer, Weasly it would seem, pulled out a small stick. In a friendly voice, he told Sam and Dean, "Nothing to worry about, gentlemen, I'll just be taking my car back home now..."

The Ford Anglia snapped all of its doors closed with a bang and launched itself into the air. Several feet above the trees, a ripple rolled across its finish and it flickered out of view, like a chameleon. Only better.

"Bother," the man grumbled. Rapidly, the stranger whipped a broomstick of all things out of his back pocket. (There was no telling how he fit it in there.) He crouched over the broom handle like he was riding a stick horse and tapped himself on the head with his stick. The last they saw of him, he was rising into the air as he rippled out of sight.

Sam, Dean, and Baby stood, the humans gaping in shock.

Dean turned to his brother. "I vote we pretend that-" He pointed at the sky. "Never happened."

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"I'm in," Baby silently agreed as well.


	18. 2005 Batman

**2005 Batman**

Sam sighed. "Dude, seriously? Just... pick a spot. Any spot. The night's not getting any younger, and the Spring Heel is not coming to us."

Baby could feel her driver's unease as he glanced over at his little brother.

"Sam, I'm not parking her just anywhere. Especially in a skeevy neighborhood like this!"

Baby chuckled. "Aww, love you too, Sweetness."

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, probably praying to whatever higher power would listen for patience. "Dean. It's Gotham, home of the real Batman, the most corrupt city in the United States. All the neighborhoods are skeevy. I told you we should have parked the Impala somewhere safe and boosted a junker."

Baby eyed the alleyways and the thugs loitering in them. "For once, Sweet, I wish he had listened. This city is giving me the jeebs."

"And I told you, we don't need to risk boosting the wrong car around here," Dean retorted. "Monsters we can handle. Hell, cops we can handle. They both have rules. I ain't crossing the mob unless I have to. I've said it before, Sammy: People are nuts."

"God is great, beer is good, and people are crazy!" Baby sang silently to her driver. On cue, Dean started humming the refrain. She loved her car and driver duets.

Sam did not. He rapped the back of his head against the seat. "Dude, no. Just... park. Okay?"

Dean huffed and threw a sideways glare, but something outside the window beyond Sam's head caught his eye. He peeled the car around a curb, almost in a u-turn, with a broad grin stretched across his face. "No. Freakin. Way!"

There he sat, a barely discernible black shape lurking amid the deep gray shadows of the buildings around him. Weak streetlights barely reached the matte black of his carefully angled windows. The Batmobile. The real one. Radiating menace.

Dean Winchester parked his beloved Baby next to the mechanical celebrity.

"Dude, do not touch!" Sam cried in warning.

"Yeah, I'm that stupid," Dean groused, stuffing his hands in his jacket to help resist that temptation. He didn't touch. But he did stare.

But then, so was Baby. Finally, she roused herself to speak, trying desperately to sound normal. "I should probably be jealous or something."

"No, ma'am," the other car denied easily, his voice a clipped and concise tenor. "Any car awake can see he belongs to someone already."

She laughed. "There's that," Baby agreed. "And there's the fact that I'm trying not to leak any fluids myself. Because... Wow. I mean, you're _the_ Batmobile and-"

"Tumbler, ma'am."

"Huh?"

"I was called the Tumbler before Batman co-opted me for service as the 'batmobile,'" the younger car explained. "I was designed in cooperation between Wayne Enterprises and the United States Army Corps of Engineers to transverse waterways and crevasses in order to lay foundations for mobile bridges in war zones. The bridge design never worked out all the kinks, but I performed as required."

"Oh. Huh. I guess I always kind of assumed that Batman designed and built you himself," Baby mused. "Somehow, imagining the guy with a key to the patent office isn't as... glamorous."

"I don't know about glamorous, ma'am, but I appreciate getting out of the R&D basement and getting put to work," Tumbler offered. "Real work. Even if its not the work I was originally designed for."

"Dude, we need a picture," Sam announced suddenly, breaking Dean's staring contest and the cars' conversation. "I know, I know, you're not a teenage girl, you don't do selfies. But no one is going to believe us if we don't."

"Awesome idea, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed. "I approve."

Sam and Dean stood side by side between the two cars, while Sam's longer arms held the phone as far back as he could.

"Hey, Tumbler, your driver's not going to get mad or anything, is he? I mean, Batman isn't exactly known for playing nice..."

Tumbler hmmed. When he spoke again, his voice sounded clipped. Like he was trying not to be insulted. "Batman is not my driver, ma'am."

"He's not?" Baby asked.

"No, ma'am. Batman is a simple operator," Tumbler explained. "To him, I am no more than a tool in his belt or a weapon in his arsenal. There is no connection between us. At all. If I got wrecked or severely damaged, he'd find a newer better design and move on."

Baby thought about it for a moment. "But... You're so awake and aware...?" she trailed off, hoping he would pick up the conversation thread.

Tumbler did not disappoint. "Lucious Fox, ma'am, head of Wayne Enterprises Research and Development. He didn't actually drive me all that much, but he designed me and built most of me by hand. I was his brain child. But he bequeathed me to Batman, and so I serve to the best of my ability."

Suddenly, the Tumbler rocked slightly as the man himself landed atop him. Any noise he would have made was covered by the quiet electronic clicking of the Winchesters' phones.

Dean flipped the camera phone around to check the latest shot and noticed the third person in the background of the scene.

His eyes widened even as the deep, gravelly voice behind him demanded, "What are you doing?"

"Crap!" he exclaimed.


	19. Sandman Slim

**(19) Sandman Slim**

 **Special Thanks to Irken Invader for help fact checking me on this one!**

 **If you like Sandman Slim, check out "A Night on the Town."**

How did that poem go?

 _Once more into the fray... into the last good fight I'll ever know._

 _Live and die on that day...Live or die on that day..._

...

Baby knew that today would be on of those days as soon as her boys opened her doors. Hard faces and primed weapons told her that something big was happening. Something that could very easily kill them all. Something that her brave, Hunter boys would not- _could_ not back down from.

Well, the old Impala hadn't lost her horsepower with Meg behind the wheel to distract Leviathan to save humanity. Nor did her engine sputter and stall when a nearly heartbroken Dean drove her to Stull Cemetery to save the world by parking between two angry archangels. And her tires didn't stop spinning while staring down a pissed God's Sister to save all of creation.

If her boys were going down that day, then the soul of an old, often repaired car would ride with them.

Today, one James Stark AKA Sandman Slim, would travel with them down that road to death or victory. His garage door opened and he rolled out mounted on the most wicked-looking motorcycle Baby had ever come across.

It was a Dr. Suess nightmare mockery of an '65 Electra Glide. More armored mechanical bull complete with handlebars that taper to points like the horns on a texas longhorn bull. The exhaust belched a plume of fire reeking of sulfur.

"Damn," Baby breathed, awed in spite of herself.

"Exactly," the chopper replied, his voice a deep mix of gravel and whiskey. "Born and built Downtown."

Dean revved Baby's engine and Sandman Slim kicked off the motorcycle with a throaty roar of big engine never designed to be street legal.

Baby took the moment to process what she had been told. Even for a Hunter's car, that wasn't something she'd heard before. "A Hellion motorcycle. Huh."

"'Huh'? That's it?" The chopper demanded, sounding bewildered and more than a little put out. "No 'now I know you're lying,' or 'does that make you evil?' Or my personal favorite from the local Bishop's limo: 'begone from me, thou unclean spirit, thou unholy thing!' No. Just 'huh' from you."

Baby laughed at him, despite the seriousness of the battle ahead. "You have freakin' Sandman Slim, the Monster All Monsters Fear, for a driver. Why wouldn't I believe you?"

Before the chopper could respond, a cherry red mustang exploded out of nowhere. Fast food wrappers and cigarette butts swirled in the eddy of her wake. Neither the Winchesters nor Stark seemed worried, proving the vehicle was something supernatural. Otherwise, the humans would care more. As it was, all the men seemed content to ignore it.

The newcomer fell into pace beside the Impala and behind the bike. "Hey, Baby. Howdy SandStorm. I know we haven't met before. I'm Mustang Sally, slyph and spirit of the road."

"Yeah, Boss-man's mentioned you a few times," the motorcycle (apparently named SandStorm) greeted. "All good things."

"Yeah, Jimmy is a sweetheart. Always buys the good stuff when he does a summoning," Mustang Sally mused. "But here he is, driving headlong into trouble and he didn't bother to take the time to ask me what's on the other end of this road. When he knows I can't affect the physical world without permission. Silly boy."

Baby's RPMs stuttered in fear for her boys. Road slyphs don't just appear because they're feeling chatty.

But the Hell Bike revved in a laugh. "Good thing that us hearts of the vehicle are as much spirit as physical. What's at the end of this road, Sally?"

"Uh, uh, uh! You can't ask me that," the mustang chided. "I don't owe you anything; and rules are rules."

"Then why are you here?" Baby demanded. "If you can't help?"

Mustang Sally chuckled. "Well, now. I might be able to help out the muscle car who ganked Christine. That was a service to roads everywhere."

"Wait, Baby's the Long Black Car who ganked that crazy bitch, Christine?" SandStorm cackled. "Damn. No wonder she took the 'from hell' thing in stride."

"So, what's at the end of the road?" Baby asked, ignoring the bike.

"A wall of ghost-powered hoodoo," Sally told them. "You two will crash right into it like a solid brick wall and probably kill your drivers. And yourselves."

"SHIT!" SandStorm cried.

"Sally, I'm about as in tune with my boys as it is possible for a vehicle to be, but even I can't make them turn back from a hunt that has this much riding on it," Baby told the slyph. "What can we do?"

"Rules are rules, Baby. You've used up all the favor I can give you when you haven't done anything specifically for me." Baby started to protest, when Sally overrode her. "But. If I have your word that the next time you and your boys are cruising Route 66 through Arizona, you nudge your Hunters to do what they do best on a certain section... _Then_ I can do something."

"Done." Baby agreed instantly. Slyphs weren't demons. Deals could be made without danger unless you failed to hold up your end.

Mustang Sally revved. "Repeat after me."

A stream of words in a language Baby never heard before flowed out of the spirit of the road. After the first repetition, SandStorm joined in. At the third, so did Baby. Magic welled under her tires, like it had so long ago next to the Blue Beetle. All around them, car ghosts flickered in and out. Forming a wedge around the three of them.

The wedge hit the barrier, shattering it, and allowing the heroes through unscathed to go forth and save the day. The ghost cars faded away. Mustang Sally honked her goodbyes and peeled away.

The Winchesters thought it was Sandman Slim, throwing some hoodoo.

Sandman Slim thought it was the Winchesters, working a spell.

Neither vehicle corrected their driver.

A/N: The quote at the beginning was from "The Grey" starring Liam Neeson.

A/N-2: The Route 66 in Arizona was reference to a horror movie starring Lou Diamond Phillips.


	20. NCIS

**(20) NCIS**

 _A/N: For missmeow1968, who wouldn't let this idea rest until I caved and who helped with the names when I hit the mental block._

"Shh! Everyone shut up, here she comes!"

"Remember, not one word! We don't want her to spook her driver into bolting."

Four cars in the car show lot fell absolutely silent as Dean pulled Baby into her assigned slot and put her into park. None of them uttered a single word as the human exited his car and patted her hood with a comforting hand before before he sauntered away. (Her boy didn't merely walk. Walking didn't have style. Dean Winchester _sauntered._ )

Minutes passed and none of the cars greeted her. Baby decided she wasn't going to be the first to break the offending quiet.

The silence became so awkward and heavy that the green '66 Ford Mustang finally couldn't take it anymore. "Hey, how ya doin'? Nice weather we're having, huh? Beautiful day for a car show, isn't it?" she babbled nervously.

"Lady!" the yellow '71 Dodge Challenger snapped, her tone familiar to school children everywhere as the tone of the most strict teacher in the school. Although to Baby, it sounded a little like a female John Winchester.

"What?" the mustang whined, _her_ tone was one of elementary students everywhere after having been told off by their mother.

The silver vintage Morgan heaved a long-suffering sigh. "My dear, I thought we all agreed NOT to engage our collective drivers' quarry. After all, one never knows the range a vehicle has with his or her driver."

Oh yeah. Baby could totally get Dean's attention from here. Maybe even Sam's back at the hotel if she really pushed it.

"How is talking about the weather going to give us away?" Lady demanded, sulking.

The '31 Ford Coupe Hot Rode giggled. "She's right Lazarus. The Impala couldn't have known our drivers were after her driver until you said something."

"It doesn't matter, Gotcha," the Morgan (Lazarus?) sniffed. "We all promised our dear Schooner not to interact with the car in question."

"Uh..." Baby finally felt compelled to break into the discussion. "No offense guys, but nothing says something hinky is going on quite like total and complete and weirdly uncomfortable silences. Besides we kinda already knew it was a trap when we pulled in. So, really, its fine."

"You knew," the Challenger (Schooner?) heh- challenged- in a tone of of professional disbelief.

"Well... Yeah." Baby agreed.

Lady laughed in derision. Loudly. "Oh, come on, Imp. Who walks into a trap, knowing its a trap? That's beyond stupid."

Baby suppressed a growl. Fords. Why was it always Fords? Always pushing her buttons and testing her limits? She _hated_ being called 'Imp.' Clutching at her patience, she answered, "If you know its a trap, and you're ready for it, then its not really much of a trap, is it?"

The freaking ford scoffed. "How could you possibly have known?"

"Uh. A car show pops out of nowhere, not far away from the army base. After the NCIS put out an APB on a classic model black Chevy Impala. Oh, and there was that short but entertaining car chase away from the last crime scene. Put it all together, and yeah. Its a little obvious." Baby explained.

Gotcha snickered quietly.

"Let me guess," Baby continued. "All of you belong to cops, so no civilians are put in danger."

"No!" Lady denied instantly and unconvincingly.

Schooner huffed a laugh, despite herself. "Close. I belong to Special Agent Gibbs and the loudmouth over there belongs to Agent DiNozzo. But Lazarus belongs to the coroner and Gotcha belongs to the head of forensics."

"Oh, come on! She's messing with us." Lady exclaimed. "Making up some crappy story on the fly trying to show us up. Well, I'm calling your bull. You are full of it and a crappy liar!" the mustang finished triumphantly.

Before the Impala could respond, Dean strolled up to the cars. He leaned on his car with both fists bracing him against her hood. So she could hear him as he spoke softly. "Okay Baby. I'm sorry about this, but its the only play we got right now. I know it sucks. I hate it, too. But don't worry, okay? See all the fed cars? They're all in real good shape, so these people know how to treat a classy lady like you. Me and Sammy will bust you out of impound as soon as we get the fugly sneaking around the military base. I promise. And after we get home, you get the full lube oil and wax. Okay?"

Behind him, several NCIS agents circled pointing their weapons at Dean. Slowly, but with an insouciant smirk, Dean lifted his hands behind his head. "Does this mean we won 'Best in Show'?"

As the agents cuffed her driver and hauled him off, Baby caught the other car's attention.

"Told you so."


	21. Ghostbusters

**(21) Ghostbusters**

Was it weird to enjoy sitting outside a haunted house? Well, Baby had always known she wasn't exactly typical. (Her first clue had been when her future driver came back in time to make sure his father bought her in the first place. After that 'typical' goes in the compactor.)

Haunted houses were peaceful on the outside. Okay, sure, there was the occasional teenage adventurists with their cans of spray-paint who thought Baby needed to match the building's graffiti. But her boy knew how to put the Fear of God into those morons. For the most part, haunted houses were quiet places.

In fact, the Impala was settling in to wait, when her peace and quiet shattered to the sound of an old air raid siren. The ear splitting racket grew in intensity until the source arrived beside her: a '59 Cadillac Miller-Meteor ambulance/hearse. Between the siren, the light-bar flashing on his roof, and the logo plastered across his side, she could tell his drivers wanted to look official. But weren't.

Sam and Dean appeared in one of the upper floor windows, staring down with shock and incredulity, as four men piled out of the newly arrived car.

"Alright! Nobody panic! We're here!" The car announced.

Baby watched as the foursome hefted heavy equipment off the car's rack and onto their own backs. "Who's 'we'?" Baby asked (completely ignoring the insinuation that her boys would either panic or need help with a simple salt and burn.)

"I am Ecto-1 and WE are the Ghostbusters."

"Ah. Well that makes sense." Haunted houses did tend to attract ghost hunters: College kids with handheld camcorders, hoping to film the next Blair Witch Project. Some semi-professional groups, like Lorraine and Ed Warren, setting up their spirit cameras (thermometer triggers for taking snapshots of cold spots). Or other Hunters who don't care about photography. These guys... "That's a lot of gear," Baby observed.

"Yeah, the weight isn't bad. Even for an old-timer like me," Ecto-1 confided. "But the small scale nuclear accelerators kinda freaked me out at first."

Baby sputtered. "Come again?" _Nukes?_

Ecto-1 chuckled. "Yeah, you get used to the idea. But I'm not worried anymore. Venkman may ignore little things like logical safety precautions, but Egon knows his stuff backwards and forwards. Its perfectly safe." Honesty made him add, "As long as nobody looses track of the others or panics, and nobody crosses the streams of the proton packs. Then there's the total protonic reversal causing all life as we know it to stop instantaneously and every molecule in their bodies to explode at the speed of light. But its never happened on accident before. So... yeah. Perfectly safe."

At a loss for words, Baby could only gape. _**Perfectly Safe?!**_

Suddenly, the top floors of the old house lit up from the inside. From the cars perspective, it looked like slow moving lighting crackling in all directions.

"Ooh. Looks like my guys found their ghost," Ecto-1 noted happily.

Proton streams shattered the windows on the top floor and shot out into the open air above the vehicles. Two streams of light came dangerously close to each other as two different Ghostbusters tried to catch the apparition escaping through the now open window. Shards of glass tinked lightly against Baby's hood.

"DEAN! SAM!" she yelped. Give her monsters any day. Humans and their mad science occasionally scared the crap out of her. Baby's cries had both Winchester men bolting for the front door before they had a chance to ask themselves why.

Not hampered by physical obstacles like stairs and walls or gravity, the ghost flew out the now empty window frame into the night air. Enraged but weak, it needed someone or something to possess in order to make its get away from its home and the invading Hunters. Spying the cars, the ghost dove through the air straight for the muscle car and her powerful engine.

The front door burst open in time for all six men to see the ghost bounce off of the Impala's glossy black paint.

"Hey!" Dean bellowed, "Get the hell away from my car!"

More pissed and desperate than ever, the ghost tried again; this time aiming for the older Cadillac.

"Get it out! Get it out!" Ecto-1 screamed in terror, even as his lights flicked on and his engine revved.

"Get ready!" Sam called out to the Ghostbusters. The brothers took up positions on either side of the possessed car. Each man unloaded both barrels of rock salt rounds into the Cadillac's panels and doors. Salt pellets and paint chips exploded in all directions, destroying the logo.

But Ecto-1 wouldn't complain. The salt did its job.

The ghost shot straight up, away from the painful salt barrage. Two Ghostbusters let loose the proton pack's streams, tangling the ghost between them, while a third slid the trap underneath it.

"Now!" Ray called.

Proton packs cut off and the trap opened, swallowing the ghost.

"Got it!" Ray reported.

"Oh!" Venkman gasped. "The car! Our poor car!" The Ghostbuster walked to the damaged drivers door and hugged the vehicle sadly. "Don't worry, honey. We'll get you fixed up again."

"Forget the car, Venkman!" Ray snapped. "Don't you realize what just happened? Salt! Years of research put into developing a proton pack, and these guys wrangle a ghost using salt and a shotgun!"

Egon cocked his head, considering the two vehicles sitting side by side. "Why couldn't the apparition inhabit your vehicle? What's different about it?"

"Yeah? Why couldn't it?" Ecto-1whimpered.

Dean patted Baby's hood and answered them both. "After the last time a ghost took her for a test drive and tried to run me over, I engraved every protective warding I could find into her frame."

"Protective warding?" Egon repeated. "How do symbols and shapes disrupt the negative energies that comprise the visible spectrum of an apparition?"

Sam and the scientists wandered away, a long and complicated discussion of the nature of ghosts in their future.

Ecto-1 settled down as the humans walked away. "Protective warding, huh?"

"Yeah," Baby agreed.

Hesitantly, he asked, "Do you think-?"

"I'm sure I could get Dean to scratch on the basics before we leave," Baby offered.


	22. MacGyver

**(22) Macgyver**

Not all human beings love their cars. For many a car is an 'it' and nothing more: merely a vehicle, a tool, a means of getting from point A to point B. No bond is formed between man and machine. No subtle magic grows in the world enriching the lives of men and strengthening the spirit of the machine.

To be fair, not all cars like their drivers, either. Some people run their vehicles into the ground and move on to the next without a second thought. The jerks.

Baby, however; Baby _**loved**_ her boys with every drop of oil in her engine, every fleck of paint on her exterior, and every inch of leather covering her seats. There was nothing she wouldn't do for Sam and Dean if she was capable of doing it.

Up to and including defending their honor as the most amazing men ever to grace the face of the planet to a stuck up blue '57 Chevrolet Bel Air Nomad who seemed to think his driver (some dude called 'MacGyver' because his first name was wa-a-a-ay too geeky) was God's gift to the people of this world. Please.

"My driver is more impressive," he insisted. "He works for the Phoenix Foundation. It is literally his job to travel the country and help people. People who have no where else to turn. People who have exhausted every other option."

"My boys are Hunters." Baby retorted. "They travel the states saving people by hunting supernatural monsters. Only no one pays them. And the people they help? They don't even know where to start looking for answers, let alone help."

"My driver is brilliant," the Nomad declared. "He once made an arc welder out of jumper cables, a generator and a couple of quarters."

Baby snorted. "Please. My oldest boy made a working EMP meter out of a broken Walkman and a hotel radio. Actually, it works better than those cheap Radioshack toys. That EMP meter lasted years under regular use. How'd your welder hold up long term?"

The Nomad declined to answer. Instead, he moved on to more proof of Mac's status of most impressive human. "My driver made a mortar from a muffler, a gear shift knob, the seat cushion stuffing and the cigarette lighter. He's great at defending himself with things you wouldn't expect would cause you problems."

"My boys once got rid of a murderous ghost who had been lost at sea by summoning another ghost, his brother, and letting them duke it out." Baby sniffed. "Took care of a vengeful spirit, while handling a con artist. Your driver ever juggle a spirit beyond rational thought and a cold, conniving thief?"

"My driver made a spear gun from cleaning fluid, a telescope and moth balls. How are your boys at high school chemistry?" the Nomad demanded.

"My younger boy, the one that got a full ride to Stanford?" Baby bragged. "My younger boy made a shock stick out of a tackle box, some electrical tape, a mop handle and a lantern battery. While alone and infected himself by supernatural rabies. How's your driver at getting out of a tight spot?"

The Nomad huffed indignantly. "My driver can pick the lock on a set of handcuffs with a bobby pin and then use the handcuffs to pick the lock on the door he's locked behind. How's that for slipping tight spots?"

"My boys have escaped from Hell. Twice. Each. And once from Heaven, together. And Dean slipped Purgatory a few years after, after surviving for a year. Top. That."

"Uhhh..."

"Boom. I win."


End file.
